Page 102 of Story of My Life
I could think of a thousand reasons I shouldn’t have a seat. Starting and ending with the fact that I didn’t trust this sexy-on-the-outside, passive-aggressive-on-the-inside jerk to not make the evening even worse. Unfortunately for me, my curiosity was piqued, and I tended to make my stupidest decisions in this state. Like that time an almost stepfather had warned me not to put chewing gum in my hair, which of course I did just in time to have a spectacular bald spot for my third-grade class photo.
I didn’t think I was in danger of a bald spot in this particular situation. But I was also pretty sure the only “research” I was getting tonight was how bad a date could be.
I sat on the cushioned bench seat and cursed myself.
He cast off the lines and settled next to me behind the wheel. He reached under the seat and produced a key.
“You leave your boat key in your boat?” I asked. The Manhattanite in me was appalled.
“Not my boat,” he said, before firing up the engine.
“You’re stealing a boat?” I yelped.
His response was to throw the engine in reverse and guide the boat away from the dock into open water.
“Campbell Bishop! Did we just steal a boat?”
“Not if we don’t get caught,” he said over the engine noise.
We didn’t go far. While I was debating whether I would be able to write books in prison for grand theft boat, Cam steered us to the center of the lake and cut the engine.
“Pretty sure this constitutes theft and abduction,” I said, crossing my arms in indignation.
Cam responded by dropping an Italian sub into my lap. “Eat. Maybe you’ll feel less grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy. You’re grumpy. I’m clearly the sunshine on this farce of a date.”
“You’re the one whining while we sit in the middle of a lake under the stars.” He opened a beer and handed it to me. “I’d have thought a romance novelist would be better at noticing romance.”
I opened my mouth and then promptly shut it.
Because we were bobbing gently on the dark lake’s surface as the entire sky of stars unfurled above us. Tree frogs and crickets sang a summer duet that an entire infantry of fireflies danced to. An owl hooted from the far shore, echoed by another behind us. The air was warm, and so was Cam’s body at my side.
I took a sip of ice-cold beer. “Okay, fine. This isn’t terrible.”
He shot me a wolfish look as he unwrapped his turkey sub. “It’s fucking romantic as hell, and you know it.”
“But did you have to steal a boat?”
“You’re such a good girl, Trouble.”
“The men in my books say that differently,” I said, working the wrapper open on my own sub.
“I noticed.”
“Just how far did you get?” I demanded with my mouth full.
“No shop talk. Not while you’re in the middle of the Cam Special.”
“Your dates have names?” I dropped my dinner and started hunting for my notebook.
His hand landed on my knee. “Can’t you just relax for five seconds?”
“Why?”
“How am I supposed to bring my A game when you keep whipping out a microscope to dissect what I’m doing?”
I picked up the sub again. “Fair point. For the sake of the research, I will try to experience the Cam Special live and in person.”
